The 12 Days of Christmas
by TrivialQueen
Summary: On the fourth day of Christmas, My True Love gave to me... Multiple Carols, Traditional and Modern, and Multiple pairings, Traditional and AU.
1. A Partridge in a Pear Tree

The Twelve Days of Christmas

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Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairings: HenKat/TomKat

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Chapter One: A Partridge in a Pear Tree

"A gift from Sir Thomas More." Gifts were typically exchanged on New Year's Day, but the good Lord More had insisted that his gift, his gift had special meaning for the twenty fifth. And Henry was never one to turn down a gift or praise allowed the present to be given early. And so Thomas More entered the throne room, bowing low he greeted his King and Queen warmly.

"Merry Christmas Thomas." Henry wished his longtime friend. More stood up straight and smiled. From behind him a servant appeared carrying a large pear tree.

"Merry Christmas Henry, Merry Christmas My Lady." The servant sat the tree down and Henry immediately began circling it, hands behind his back as he wondered why his dear friend and chief minister brought him a pear tree. With a squawk a partridge popped out and Henry jumped a good foot in the air. Once the King's heart returned to its normal rhythm he flung his head back and laughed, it was not until that moment More and Katherine joined in the mirth of the moment.

"Other than a start and a laugh my friend, what is this gift?" The king asked.

"Henry, it is a symbol, The Lord God has given to every baptized person the gift of Jesus Christ into the world this day." More turned to Katherine with a soft smile. "Surly my Queen understands."

Katherine did understand the symbol, though she knew it by another, simpler phrase.

_On the first day of Christmas my True Love gave to me,  
A Partridge in a Pear Tree

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AN: The song, The Twelve Days of Christmas, is full of Christian/Catholic symbolism, the Partridge represents Jesus, the Pear Tree the world, 'me' means every baptized person, and our True Love is of course God. At least this is what the internet told me.


	2. Still, Still, Still

The Twelve Days of Christmas

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Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairings: Anthony Knivert/Anne of Cleves

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Chapter Two: Still, Still, Still

The air was full of thick, white flakes. They fell fast from darkened skies like stars an earth, they glowed in the moonlight and flew on the wind. The wind that whipped over the countryside and made the beauty of the new snow, a blizzard. The trees sparkled with a glaze of ice, branches twinkled and winked, enchanted.

Anthony Knivert did not care if freezing rain had given way to blowing snow. He was inside, Yule Log glowing in the hearth, warm Wassail in his hand. The blizzard was beautiful.

"Oh Tony," from beside him Anne of Cleves spoke, her soft German accent distressed. "Oh Tony, it…it is a _Schneesturm_! You are stick. I'm-" She was going to apologize, she always apologized and she never needed to. What did she have to be sorry for? That he wanted to come. That he wanted to be here, with her, to celebrate the season to be the family she had in England a person to fill the void of her relatives in Germany? No, she should not apologies; there was no reason for it.

He sat his glass on the window sill and pulled the heavy curtain around them both, blocking out all light save the moon and the stars lighting the snow.

"Shhhhhhh." Tony whispered taking the former Queen into his arms.

_Still, Still, Still  
One can hear the falling snow  
For all is hushed,  
the world is sleeping,  
Holy star its vigil keeping  
Still, Still, Still  
One can hear the falling snow_

Anne closed her eyes and sunk into the warm embrace. Tony held her close and snow continued to fall around them. It was peaceful. She was content. No longer lonely, without family or friend. She was warm, she was embraced, and if she dared dream she was loved. Anne opened her eyes and looked up at the man. He was no longer watching the snow he once found so beautiful. He was watching her. Christmas star reflecting in his deep, dark eyes. Snow, like the magic of the season all around them.

_Sleep, sleep, sleep  
'tis the eve of our Savior's birth  
close your eyes  
Let sleep surround you  
Sleep, sleep, sleep  
'tis the eve of our Savior's birth_

Anne yawned, her breath soft and warm as he carried her up the castle stairs, her angelic, sleepy face tucked against his neck. They had stood for a long time in stillness, cocooned in their own little world of snow and each other, the rest of the household rushing by them as if they didn't exist. Which helped the world fall away around them. For a time it was just the beautiful Queen, the gentle Knight and the snow. It was nearly midnight now and the beautiful Queen needed her royal rest. So tired was she that she could hardly stand. Yet she fought him every step of his way to her chambers.

"Oh Tony," she whispered as he laid her on her bed. He remained bent over her, her arms still around his neck, half hoping she'd pull him down with her and spare him the self control as she talks. "Oh Tony, I am so sorry, your holiday is ruined, you are stuck here with me. Unable to go home, far from your friends." Her eyes mist and it kills him. It kills him every time she thinks she is a burden, not a woman.

"Annie," he whispers, tucking an errant curl behind her delicate ear. "I wanted to be her, I want to be with you." Her body is bringing sleep fast through her mind wishes to remain awake. She yawns again.

"When you're with me you always take care of me… you teach me Englisch, you kill the rats… you…. You carry me…" Her words jumbled and faded, some were English, others German. "Won't you ever get tired of looking after me?" Tony felt the answer in his heart.

"No." He whispered, "I will never tire of being your knight." Anne was already asleep.

The great clock began to strike the hour.

_Dong, Dong, Dong_

He wrapped a blanket tightly around her.

_Dong, Dong, Dong_

Dropping a lingering kiss onto her smooth forehead. Tony stood and snuffed the bedside candle before stoking the fire into crackling life.

_Dong, Dong, Dong_

Pausing at her door before making his way to the guest chambers he cast a final eye about the room. All was calm, all was still.

_Dong, Dong, Dong_

"Merry Christmas, Annie." He whispered.

_Dream, dream, dream  
of the joyous day to come  
while guardian angels without number  
watch you as you sweetly slumber  
Dream, dream, dream  
of the joyous day to come._


	3. Two Turtle Doves

The Twelve Days of Christmas

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Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairings: Henry VIII/Anne Boleyn

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Chapter Three: Two Turtle Doves

"A gift from His Royal Highness King Henry," the herald proclaimed, "to the Lady An-"

"STOP!" Henry shouted, he uncrossed his legs and sat up straighter on his throne, fixing the poor servant with a cold, stern gaze.

"To the Queen." He said darkly. "A gift to my future Queen. The Queen of my heart." The crier visibly swallowed, licking his lips nervously he began again.

"A gift from His Royal Highness King Henry to the... Queen Anne Boleyn." Henry smiled and squeezed his lover's hand as she sat on her own throne. From the hall came another servant carrying a beautiful golden cage. Inside, perched together, were two lovely, plump birds. The future Queen descended her royal chair for a closer look.

"Oh Henry!" She exclaimed, "They're-"

"Love birds, Sweetheart, just like you and I."

_....On the second day of Christmas my True Love gave to me,  
Two Turtle Doves...._


	4. Stille Nacht

The Twelve Days of Christmas

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Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairings: Thomas Cromwell/ Elizabeth Wyckes Cromwell

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Chapter Four: Stille Nacht

_Silent Night, Holy Night  
All is calm, all is bright  
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child  
Holy Infant, so tender and mild  
Sleep in Heavenly Peace  
Sleep in Heavenly Peace_

A single mournful wail split the otherwise peaceful, silent December night. It was the sound of a heart shattering, a soul that would never be truly whole again.

"N-n-n-nooo! My Baby!"

Before a tiny grave in an equally small churchyard a mother fell to her knees. Blonde hair, wild and unbound flying untamed in the icy winter wind. Tears streaming down her cheeks, the hotness of despair the only thing keeping them from freezing. Long white fingers dug into the freshly turned, frozen ground, tearing at the earth the way she had torn her clothes. Poor black dress ripped away to reveal swaths of pale, now blue tinted flesh, marred by long red marks. Physical representations of the clawing pain in her heart.

Unable to bring her babe back from the ground the woman collapsed further; utterly broken she curled and wished to die. She had tried so hard, she had done everything they told her. She had loved her child with all she had, obeyed her husband, attended every mass, every sin she confessed, each station of the cross she visited. And when her child took ill she did exactly as the priests and bishops said, every prayer, every candle, every price she paid.

And yet still her child was dead.

_Silent Night, Holy Night  
Shepherds quake at the sight  
Glories stream from Heaven afar  
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia  
Christ, the Savior, is Born  
Christ, the Savior, is Born_

The ravages of war would be a welcome sight, less cruel, more understandable than the one before him. The tall observer, dark haired, sleep deprived, gaunt and heartbroken dropped to his knees beside his fair bride, gathering her into a thick fur blanket and his arms. Limp as the cloth around her the woman buried her face in her husband's chest, her fingers too cold to do more than to starkly rest against his raven breast. Her eyes finally out of tears to shed. The woman hiccupped softly as her spouse tucked her head under his chin, dropping a mournful kiss atop her cold gold curls. He wrapped the blanker tighter around her and then rose to his fee, beloved cradled to him as light and limp a burden as a daughter's doll… he pushed that thought from his mind.

"Come Elizabeth-Love," The man said hoarsely. The woman, his wife, his love, his Elizabeth, was too weak to fight.

"But Thomas," she whispered, "Alexandria… I-I cannot leave her here. I cannot. She is alone… Oh Dria…" she wept. "My sweet, perfect angel…" one frail, fragile hand reached back towards the grave.

"Elizabeth," Thomas chocked, dark eyes noting the light blue of her fingertips, "Please, Elizabeth, you will catch your death if you do not leave."

"Then she will not be alone" she whispered, "I would be with her."

"But then you would not be with me." His words were heartbreak. "Then I would be alone." They brought her head up to look at him, her lips as blue as her eyes, her sad, sad eyes. Their gazes met and as they did Thomas felt something akin to hope bloom in his chest. It was a distant relative, this feeling and hope, but it was the closest he'd been to the joyous emotion since his daughter called for him in the night lo those painful days ago. Deep in her gaze, at the bottom of her sea colored eyes and despair there was a flame. A flame of life, of love. She would not die; their love would keep her alive.

_Silent Night, Holy Night  
Son of God, Love's pure light  
Radiant beams from thy Holy Face  
With the dawn of redeeming Grace  
Jesus Lord at thy Birth  
Jesus Lord at thy Birth

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_AN: I don't know what happened! This started out so happy, so romantic, so not killing little girls. Silent Night is my favorite Christmas Carol of all time and I had the most beautiful mental image of Thomas and Elizabeth kissing by candlelight after she gets after him (once again) for being cold, heartless Mist Secretary. Thing lots of references to verse three – Love's pure light…. Redeeming Grace… Plus the fact that Silent Night is Stille Nacht – German originally, abstract Lutheran reference anyone? Oy vey, I might have to do an alternative chapter._

_And in regards to Beth's behavior, I have never lost a child, I have no idea if freezing to death in a grave yard is common or an overreaction, all I can say is that Thomas Cromwell, he married a passionate one alright._


	5. Three French Hens

The Twelve Days of Christmas

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Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairings: Thomas Wolsey/ Joan Larke

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Chapter Five: Three French Hens

Joan knew she must look a sight, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She wasn't too proud to show her emotions, she missed her Thomas. She pulled his robe a little tighter around her; his sent a poor substitute for his arms. The New Year might be a symbolic backdrop for a new treaty bringing peace between England and France, but it brought her nothing but worry. Travel, especially across the Channel was wretched and slow this time of year. What if…

"Joan" Thomas' low voice said softly in her mind, she could see the corner of his thin lips turn up in a smirk that produced deep, happy wrinkles around his light blue eyes. They twinkled at her as he reminded her that she was his wife not his mother and that there was no need for worry. In her head she knew that he was perfectly fine. They were an island race, there were no better boats. Thomas was strong and brave – and had God on his side. No reason to worry her, head said. Her heart didn't listen.

"Mistress…" Joan was pulled from her worried daze by one of her Lady's Maids, a young girl with a sweet disposition and an expression that said that she was not very good at hiding things. "A gift for you has arrived… it is in the Kitchen." Confused Joan rose from her curled seat at Thomas's desk, the robe still around her as she padded to her Kitchens.

Joan was born a cook, though the Cardinal protested time after time that he had the funds and status to afford things such as cooks Joan had protested, protecting her Kitchen from intruders for years – until her beloved gave up. He signaled his defeat by building her the most beautiful kitchens in all of Christendom and keeping them stalked with any ingredient she could possibly ever want.

Walking through their doors was almost enough to send her into tears, the kitchen – their kitchen made it possible to miss him even more. She should be used to his absences, she scolded herself, and yet she was not.

A loud cluck turned the tragic moment comic. Three fat French hens strutted along the kitchen table, large red ribbons tied around each one.

"Well," a voice behind her asked, she whorled to find her beloved standing in the door, proud of his gift, happy to be home, his smile handsome as ever as Joan forgot all but throwing her arms around his neck.

"Thomas!" She shrieked peppering him with kisses. "You're home, you're home." He put a stop to the love assault with a single, powerful kiss.

"And I am hungry, m'dear, which one shall we cook first?"


	6. Baby it's Cold Outside

The Twelve Days of Christmas

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Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairings: Modern!FalKat  
_Note: This is another one of those ideas developed during a message between myself and Doctor Madwoman. In a nutshell, think of the Tudors in modern times at Oxford University. Boleyn is trying to expedite the divorce between Politician Henry Tudor and his wife Spanish Professor Katherine d'Aragon by wining, dining, and reclining her. He of course miscalculates his feelings and so on.

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Chapter Six: Baby, it's Cold Outside

The fire and white lights of his tree provided the moodiest of mood lighting as the antique record player put the sounds of Sinatra and Deany Baby celebrating the season into the air, weaving melody and the soft static of vinyl around the only two people remaining in the room and the world. Boleyn paused in the living room archway, returning to the room and Katherine after seeing the rest of his guests out. No matter how humorous it was to see the great philosophy professor Thomas More get into a drunken argument – over nothing – with equally as sloshed verbal foil Thomas Cromwell, it was better to see them go. It meant that only one of his dinner guests remained.

Katherine.

She stood beside his tree, lights making her sapphire eyes sparkle as she stared into the fireplace. Wine glass resting against her full lips as she sipped the last of her Merlot. A single raven curl dared to defy her bun and tumble against her alabaster cheek. Boleyn was absolutely speechless.

"I should be going as well." She said softly.

_I really can't stay  
(but baby it's cold outside)_

The sound of rain suddenly falling against his apartment window made Boleyn smile.

"You shouldn't be going anywhere in this weather." Katherine gave him a look, and crossed her arms over her velvet covered bust.

"I should go before the weather gets worse."

_I've got to go away  
(but baby it's cold outside)_

The idea of letting her leave sent a chill that had nothing to do with the weather down his spine. He crossed the room and drew the Spanish beauty to the window and his chest. The streets of London turning greyer before their eyes as rain made everything wet. In time it would freeze and take everything from dull grey to shiny ice.

"It's a mess out." He said lightly, her perfume getting to him.

"And it will only get messier." She replied, patting his chest. "I've had a lovely time, Thomas, truly." He took her hand in his, they were chilled.

_This evening has been  
(been hoping that you'd drop in)  
So very nice  
(I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice)  
My mother will start worry  
(beautiful what's your hurry)  
My father will be pacing the floor  
(listen to the fireplace roar)  
So really I'd better scurry  
(beautiful please don't hurry)_

Hand still in his he lowered his lips to hers, her protest died of suffocation in the seal of his lips. He pulled away and looked down, her eyes were shining.

"Maybe a cup of coffee for the road." She smiled.

_but maybe just a half a drink more  
(put some records on while I pour)  
the neighbors might faint  
(baby it's bad out there)  
say what's in this drink  
(no cabs to be had out there)_

They didn't make it to the kitchen, let alone the coffeemate. Katherine's pale fingers tunneled into Boleyn's equally pale hair as she pulled his seeking mouth down to hers. He could only smile into the kiss and let his own hands roam free. One playing with her hair, the other with her hem.

In the doorway of his bedroom Katherine stopped, prying her lips from his with a soft pop.

"You've got to be using some kind of witchcraft, Thomas, because I'm usually not like this."

_I wish I knew how  
(your eyes are like starlight now)  
to break this spell  
(I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell)_

"I've put as much a spell on you as you have me." He whispered against her collarbone. "I think you are like this, you've just never been allowed to be before." She gave him a look that said she was thinking. "Just be with me Katherine, now what you're supposed to be." It could have been more eloquent but it brought her a smile, and it got her towards the door.

Their last coherent conversation went like this"

"I'm going to at least say that I tried." She sighed beneath him. "I really can't stay."

"But baby," he moaned, "It's cold outside."

_I ought to say "no, no, no sir"  
(mind if I move in closer)  
at least I'm gonna say that I tried  
(what's the sense in hurtin' my pride)  
I really can't stay  
(oh baby don't hold out)_

_baby it's cold outside  
_

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_Fun fact, there is a professor at my university who I swear looks just like Nick Dunning's Papa Boleyn, I literally ran into him over finals. Don't know which was worse me running into him while trying to find my way to a review session or me almost calling him 'My Lord Boleyn'.  
Other Fun fact: I actually hate this song, but it seemed fitting._


	7. Four Calling Birds

The Twelve Days of Christmas

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Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairings: Philip of Bavaria/ Mary Tudor

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Chapter Seven: Four Calling Birds

Mary looked at Philip, his eyes glowing with love and soft candle light. Mary looked at the diamond ring on a bed of midnight velvet, shining like the moon in a dark, black night. She'd dreamed of this moment since he'd introduced himself in the hall over a year ago. In that year, between this moment and that one so much had happened. Her father, His Royal Highness King Henry VIII, had sent Philip away, divorced one wife, married and beheaded another and was on the verge of marry a sixth. Getting His Majesty to consent to his courtship had been agony and the coordinated efforts of not only herself but Philip's cousin, the Former Queen Anne of Cleves and the Future Queen Katherine Parr. The victory was no without failure. If Philip was allowed to court her so was a man of the King's choosing. He'd made it clear where her duty lay, made it clear who she should choose.

Mary looked at the ring and then to Philip. She looked to her own heart. For a long as she could remember she had done exactly what her father wished. Left her Mother, nursed her sister, sighed his oath. She lived in his cage for so long. This was her moment to fly. Fly into the night of the unknown, into the night of her Father's disapproval. Into the night with Philip.

"Yes, Philip! YES!" She cried, she'd been waiting for this moment to be free.

_On the Fourth Day of Christmas, my True Love gave to me, Four Calling Birds…

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_AN: When you look up 'Calling Birds' you get 'Blackbirds'. And when you hear Blackbird you've got to think of the Beatles. Just sayin'. Also, I think the lyrics are very fitting of Mary…_


	8. You're a Mean One, Mr Grinch

The Twelve Days of Christmas

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Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairings: Modern!Francis Bryan/ Katherine Parr  
_Note: Remember the plot of the Modern!Falkat, where Boleyn seduces Katherine so Anne can marry Henry and Katherine is BFFs with some professors – Cromwell, More, Wolsey? Well, Katherine Parr is the newest addition to their little group, she's just off of a broken engagement to Thomas Seymour and on the rebound with the front man for the band The Vicars of Hell, Francis Bryan. She anticipated just a round of rebound sex but, naturally her heart has other plans. Many, many thanks to Pandora. Kate, hope I'm not too rusty on them…  
_

PS Maslow and Kinsey are the men who brought us the hierarchy of needs and a comprehensive study on sex.

_

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Chapter Eight: You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch

Kate Parr wasn't entirely sure how Francis Bryan got invited to the Illiterati Christmas party, she certainly hadn't done it. Sure they were having sex – lots of sex, but it wasn't like they were involved in any other way. Yes, a good time was being had by all, but the whole Christmas thing, that implied more of a commitment than she was supposed to have. He was there to fulfill her needs; he wasn't the man in her life. There was no man in her life, except for maybe Maslow and Kinsey; she didn't need a man in her life! She didn't need to be up all night and to be running around the mall all day trying to find him a Christmas present and a new outfit because suddenly her closet was inadequate. This was Beth Cromwell's doing, Kate just knew it. Beth and her 'I'm going to do what I think is best for you even if it ruins your life' attitude. Now she had Francis Bryan at the Illiterati party, the Cromwell infant in one arm, a whiskey in his free hand and a lascivious gleam in his dark eyes. Just what she needed. _Ho, Ho, Ho – pass the rum._

For his part it looked like Bryan was having fun. He and Boleyn had spent the early part of the evening discussing music. He'd then gone on to discuss liquor with Dr. More and Dean Wolsey. He was fitting in well, damn him. Why did he have to get along with her friends? He was even holding the Cromwell's new daughter, Alexandria. In fact, aside from her parents, he was the only one little Lexi allowed to touch her without crying. Why Beth let him hold her in the first place Kate wasn't sure, standing in the living room in a leather jacket, perfectly – molded – to – his – amazing - legs jeans, and motorcycle boots he was the last person one should trust with a baby. He was going to break that girl's heart. Kate sipped her self-spiked eggnog. Was she thinking about the kid or herself as she fretted about heartache, because frankly, provided he fed her, changed her, and did drop her, there was nothing really wrong Bryan could do to the baby. She should be more concerned about her own heart. And how it rolled over, then sat up and begged as he affectionately kissed Lexi's dark head after making some comment to Cromwell.

He was not the man in her life, she didn't need a man in her life, and she didn't want a man in her life. He was a temporary fix to her problem, a lot of fun nothing more; she wasn't going to go down that road again. She wanted to unwrap him under the Christmas tree, but only in the sexual sense. Need she remind herself that he couldn't spell "commitment"? She needed another drink.

"She's not even a year old yet!" Katherine d'Aragon had exclaimed from her seat on Thomas Boleyn's knee as Bryan headed for the basement of the Cromwell home, claiming that he and the 'sprog' were going to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

"The Cartoon version is a classic; you're never too young to appreciate a classic." He had replied then whisked the child off to the basement, humming the tune to "You're a mean one Mr. Grinch" as he went.

That was an hour and half a bottle a wine ago. Kate was now downstairs, not because Beth was teasing her for missing him, not because she'd not gotten to really talk to him the entire night, but because… shut up.

The movie was nearly over; the Grinch's heart was growing three sizes, popping the wires of the little Xray thingy. She smiled; she'd always loved this movie, especially the little cheesy things like the Xray of his heart. Turning her attention from the TV she found Bryan asleep on the sofa wearing a cheap Santa hat, the white pompom hanging over his face. Lexi was nestled under his stubbled chin, her little blue eyes also closed in sleep, one baby arm slung around his neck.

Ping! Kate looked down at her chest, expecting to see her cartoon heart bursting out of the frame. How could she be unaffected by this sight? It was the Grinch and Cindy Lou Who! It was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen, goddamnit! How in the hell was she going to continue on with this affair?

_You're a mean one Mr. Grinch_

_You really are a heel._

_You're as cuddly as a cactus,_

_And as charming as an eel,_

_Mr. Grinch!_

_You're a bad banana,_

_With a greasy black peel!_

_You're a monster, Mr. Grinch!_

_Your heart's an empty hole._

_Your brain is full of spiders._

_You've got garlic in your soul,_

_Mr. Grinch!_

_I wouldn't touch you_

_With a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!_

_You're a vile one, Mr. Grinch!_

_You have termites in your smile._

_You have all the tender sweetness_

_Of a seasick crocodile,_

_Mr. Grinch!_

_Given the choice between the two of you,_

_I'd take the seasick crocodile!_

_You're a foul one, Mr. Grinch!_

_You're a nasty, wasty skunk!_

_Your heart is full of unwashed socks._

_Your soul is full of gunk,_

_Mr. Grinch!_

_The three words that best describe you_

_Are as follows, and I quote,_

_"Stink, stank, stunk!"_

_You're a rotter, Mr. Grinch!_

_You're the king of sinful sots!_

_Your heart's a dead tomato,_

_Splotched with moldy, purple spots,_

_Mr. Grinch!_

_Your soul is an apalling dump-heap,_

_Overflowing with the most disgraceful_

_assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable,_

_Mangled-up in tangled-up knots!_

_You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch!_

_With a nauseous super naus!_

_You're a crooked jerky jockey,_

_And you drive a crooked hoss,_

_Mr. Grinch!_

_You're a three-decker sauerkraut_

_and toadstool sandwich,_

_With arsenic sauce!_


	9. Five Golden Rings

The Twelve Days of Christmas

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Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairing: Thomas Wolsey/ Joan Larke  
_AN: It's December, which only means one thing – I'm not studying for finals! Or working on my papers and projects! Yay apathy!_

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Chapter Nine: Five Golden Rings

_On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me FIVE GOLDEN RINGS_

The first ring Thomas Wolsey gave to Joan Larke was a beautiful golden band with three small round diamonds.

"Symbolizing our past, present, and future." He told her slipping the ring onto her heart finger and sealing the gift with a kiss. As a newly ordained member of the clergy he could not take a wife, the station of concubine the only title he could offer her. The provocative name for a woman living with a man and raising a family without the words of the present tense. The ring was to remind her she was his whore in name only. In his heart she was his wife, his partner, and his love.

The second ring Thomas Wolsey gave to Joan Larke was made of gold and one large snow white pearl.

"I don't mean to give you anything only to deprive you of it later, but I do hope that one day Dorothy will have the ring as well." He said quietly, admiring his small daughter in her basket.

"That's a beautiful idea, Thomas." Joan said sleepily, sleep came and went from her at inopportune moments. His love needed her rest after such work that was bringing a child into this world; but alas the moment she would drift off their daughter only hours old would need her again.

The third ring Thomas Wolsey gave Joan Larke was made of amethysts set in gold.

"I do not think he will want this when he is older." Joan teased her husband when he proudly presented her with the band. Father beamed as he watched his son nestled to his mother's breast.

"Never say Never, dear. One day he may have a daughter as beautiful as you." Joan glowed.

"You're such a softie, Thomas."

The fourth ring Thomas Wolsey gave to Joan Larke was a braded gold band, a diamond, a pearl, and an amethyst set in the strands.

"I want to thank you all for coming." Wolsey said jovially, rising from his seat at the head of a table ladened with a summer's feast. He gazed around at those seated with him, the blessings in his life.

His daughter and her husband newly wed, his son recently graduated from his college, Christ Church College, at Oxford. Thomas Cromwell, his young secretary and a second son to him sat at Wolsey's left. Cromwell's bride, Elizabeth, was beside him. The way she looked at her husband, and the way he glowed in return reminded Thomas so much of his young life with Joan. Elizabeth was just as adoring as Joan and Cromwell just as besotted as he was – then and now.

"Sharing this meal with all of you is a true blessing; you are all blessings in my life. But nothing, no one, can compare to the reason why we are all gathered here today. Today marks the day I received the greatest gift God has ever given me. Twenty five years ago God gave me Joan. Every moment with her has been nothing short of divine inspiration." The table laughed and Joan flushed pink as he kissed the back of her hand. "I love you Joan."

"To Joan… and Thomas." Cromwell said raising a toast to his mentor.

"To Joan and Thomas!"

The fifth ring Joan Larke received was one she had given to her husband years ago, at his instillation as a Cardinal. It was a golden ring with a beautiful _TW_ engraved upon it, a signet with which he would seal only his most personal of correspondences.

To see the ring in the palm of Thomas Cromwell's large hand made the world spin.

"I am so, so sorry, Joan." He said softly, tears in his own dark eyes.

"How?" she whispered, stabilizing herself on the back of Thomas' favorite chair.

"Pneumonia." Cromwell said, head bowed. Joan remembered to breath but for a moment it took all of her focus and attention.

"Did… did he suffer?" She raised her large doe eyes, swimming in tears to meet the younger man's gaze. Cromwell, tears in his own eyes, swallowed, Adam's apple sliding against his black collar.

"No." He said quietly.


	10. All I Want for Christmas Is You

The Twelve Days of Christmas

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Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairing: Mary Tudor/ Philip of Bavaria

* * *

Chapter Ten: All I Want for Christmas

"Oh Mary, these are lovely." Anne exclaimed, her English greatly improved since arriving at court years ago. Her marriage to the king, Mary's father, had dissolved but she remained, becoming a friend and fixture at court. Mary gave the German a warm smile. In the years following the divorce the Princess and her former Queen had settled their differences, becoming friends.

When Mary had attended Anne at her wedding to Sir Anthony Knivert, Anne had told her how Tony had played cards with her to help with her learing of the English language and the customs of court. Mary knew it was how the Queen had found her very own King of hearts and so she commissioned a deck of cards made special for the couple.

"Mary, this is amazing! You really shouldn't have." Katherine Parr, the new Queen, Mary's fifth step mother was a graceful woman. She did her best to befriend her husband's eldest child, and succeeded in subjects of art and music. But Mary knew, could feel that the woman was more radical than even her father's troubled religion. This kept Mary at arm's length from the Queen. It did not, however, keep her from searching high and low for the volume of poetry the Lady's library was lacking.

Mary merely smiled in reply, the warmth brought by giving someone joy with the perfect gift lifting her spirits. It was a rare happiness.

"You are welcome, your Highness, Anne. I am so happy I found the right things for you both."

"They were the perfect things." The Queen said warmly, setting the leather volume gingerly on the table beside her. She gave Anne a look before leaning forward a little to address Mary. "You by now are probably wondering why neither Anne nor I have something wrapped for you."

"It's because you're too difficult to shop for." Anne supplied smartly. The women laughed.

"I have not; I didn't give you those things because I expected anything in return!" Mary protested. Kate waved it off.

"That may be true, but Mary, you deserve a special Christmas as much – if not more – than anyone else this year."

"You've been an exceptionally good girl, Mary. Santa Claus does not forget about ladies as wonderful as you."

"So Anne, Saint Nick, and I, after many long deliberations, have decided on what we hope will bring you the most joy." Kate said. The Queen then looked over Mary's head with a small nod and a smile.

"What, what is it?" Mary asked. Anne was smiling as well.

"Ho, ho, ho!" a deep voice behind her said softly. It was a voice Mary had cried herself to sleep thinking she would never hear again.

"Philip?" she exclaimed, standing with such excitement she nearly toppled the chair.

Standing in the doorway, wearing a big red bow and looking more handsome than she dreamed was Philip, back from Bavaria. He beamed at her, arms opening wide.

"Happy Christmas, Mary."

* * *

_AN: Yes Mary, there is a Santa Claus._


	11. Six Geese a Laying

The Twelve Days of Christmas

* * *

Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairing: None - The Wives

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Six Geese a-Laying

Six wives in all the King had. Six women with but one goal in mind. A son. A son. The King needed a son. Each woman, in spite of every other achievement was judged on but one factor. A son. A son. The King needed a son.

Katherine of Aragon tried first, five heartbreaks and a beautiful daughter and she was put to the pond. Anne Boleyn was cooked when her promised prince was in truth a princess.

Jane Seymour laid a golden egg with Edward but barely saw him hatch. Poor Anne of Cleves was forced to leave before she had feathered her nest and Kitty Howard's life ran a foul shortly after the rest.

Katherine Parr was the last of the gaggle, her role to be more of a Mother to the children he had than producing a new heir for Henry. Henry, who in 1547 flew south for the winter.

A son. A son. The King needed a son.

_On the Sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, Six Geese a-Laying…_


End file.
